


Confessions (2.0)

by Bastetian



Category: Scarecrow Series - Matthew Reilly
Genre: Don't Ask Don't Tell, M/M, pairings are background at best, post Hell Island, pre-AoT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-30 11:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastetian/pseuds/Bastetian
Summary: When coming to terms with a long hidden secret, Shane Schofield is going to discover that sometimes, his toughest challenge is himself.Repost (and complete re-write) of my story with the same title from ff.net





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the first time nearly ten years ago now, at a time when there was basically no Matthew Reilly fanfic out there and I felt like it would hopefully slip under the radar if I projected all of my issues onto the Scarecrow. It was the story I needed then, and it's always been the story I needed to tell. This is a complete re-write of that story, with the same bones but with ten years more experience and hopefully ten years less of internalised homophobia.

“You really shouldn’t be spyin’,” Mother said as she came into the room, arms full of empty bottles. Leaning over the kitchen sink, from where he was looking out the window into the garden, Buck ‘Book II’ Riley Jr. snorted.

“And you’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious?” He said.

In the garden, Schofield and the young man were talking. Their matching dark hair caught the light from the evening sun, crowning them with fire. Though they were keeping their voices low – completely inaudible from the kitchen window, despite Riley’s efforts – he could tell from the set of Schofield’s shoulders that the conversation was tense.

“Not at all,” Mother replied as she peered over his shoulder.

The doorbell had rung during the obligatory Sunday afternoon barbeque at Mother’s place. All the members of Schofield’s unit were already present and accounted for. Mother had been kicking Bigfoot, and Bigfoot’s kids, asses at Mario Kart while Sanchez watched in silence. Astro and PFC Harper ‘Skip’ Grady were winding up Rebound about his long-overdue promotion to Corporal, and probably his most recent dating misfortunes. Schofield himself had been out the back with Ralph, scraping down the barbeque. They hadn’t been expecting anyone else, but the doorbell had rung all the same.

Buck had answered it, Mother being occupied and all, to find a young man he’d never seen before at the door. He had the physique of a marine – tall, well-muscled and broad in the shoulders – but not the bearing. He fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt, and Riley was about to tell him they weren’t interested in whatever he was selling when Mother turned around to look.

“Myers?” She asked, surprised. In her momentary distraction, both kids shot past her in-game and whooped with glee. Even Bigfoot, who had been a distant fourth, was edging up behind her. 

“Drat,” she dropped a banana peel in front of Bigfoot before chucking the control at Sanchez. “Here, you lose to them for a bit,” and headed over to the door.

“Myers, what are you doing here?” She asked. Evidently, she knew the young man shuffling on her doorstep.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sergeant Newman,” he said, “I was looking for Captain Schofield. Reception at his building said I’d probably find him here.”

Just as he spoke, Schofield and Ralph came in from the back, laden down with the leftovers from the barbeque and a handful of beers.

“Yo, Scarecrow,” Mother called back, without taking her eyes off the unexpected guest, “someone here to see you.”

Schofield’s brow crinkled in confusion as he looked over and saw the young man. Then, handing the plate of meat to Ralph, he schooled his face into a careful neutral.  
“Noah?” he said. “What can I help you with?”

The young man, Noah, stepped inside as Mother jerked her head in invitation.

“I was just wondering if we could have a word,” he said. His eyes darted quickly across the room, taking in all the people gathered there. He couldn’t have known it, but behind reflective lenses, Schofield’s did the same. “Perhaps somewhere more private?”

Schofield nodded tightly, and Mother said “Why don’t you take the garden.”

All eyes on them, Schofield had led him out back.

And maybe Riley had grabbed some of the rubbish – crumpled napkins, empty cans – that littered the living room and taken them into the kitchen, where there was both a bin, and a window with a view of the garden.

“Who is he?” He asked Mother. 

“Noah Myers,” she said, still watching over Riley’s shoulder. “He was a recruit at Parris Island while Scarecrow and I were teaching. He was good, _really_ good, and keen too. The higher ups had flagged him as command potential. They wanted to fast track him into an NCO squad leader, maybe OCS eventually. He used to come and find Scarecrow after class all the time with questions about tactics and decisions in the field. They spent a lot of time together, were close.” She pursed her lips. “Surprised the hell out of all of us when he quit with just two weeks left.”

From the garden, they heard Schofield raise his voice enough that they could make out what he was saying.

“Keep your voice down, Noah,” he had said, although his was the only voice loud enough to be overheard.

Whatever it was they were talking about, it had Schofield on edge.

“Don’t,” Mother warned Book II, as he walked over to the back door.

He paused, hand on the door knob. “I’m not going to interfere, just want to check they’re alright.”

Mother raised an eyebrow at him.

“He’s had a rough year,” Riley said, “and it seems like he’s starting to get back to himself lately. I don’t want anything messing with that.”

She shook her head at him, but Buck opened the door anyway and stepped out into the garden.

The sun had set enough that the outdoor lights had flickered on automatically, bathing the little patio where Mother’s barbeque was set up in yellow light. Under it, Schofield looked wan and drawn, though that wasn’t too unusual for him nowadays. There were good days, and bad days. Today had seemed to be a good day, right up until Myers had shown up.

As soon as he opened the door, both men looked up, startled. Schofield managed to keep his expression in that carefully practiced neutral, but Noah wasn’t quite so experienced. A quick flash of naked fear crossed his eyes, which wasn’t missed by either Schofield or Riley.

“Everything alright?” Riley asked, keeping his voice casual as he walked up the two men. It didn’t escape his notice that Schofield’s hands were clenched into fists.

“Yeah, we’re fine Book,” Schofield replied, voice even.

“Noah was just leaving,” he said, at the same time as Noah said, “I should go.”

Both men snuffed a laugh, relaxing minutely.

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your night off,” Noah paused, glanced over at Buck Riley, as though weighing his words carefully in his presence. “I just wanted to let you know, I’m happy with my choices.”

Schofield smiled a little sadly at him.  
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

Myers walked over to the back fence, ready to let himself out, when he stopped suddenly and turned back to face Schofield.

“You know,” he said, “someone I admire a lot told me that camaraderie is key to being a good marine, that you need to be able to trust your men with your back – ” He looked pointedly between Schofield and Buck Riley – “with your life.”

Schofield and Riley stood in silence as Noah’s figure walked away and disappeared around the corner, and then another minute more just for good measure.

“What was _that_ all about?” Riley asked.

Schofield shook his head, crossed his arms across his chest.

“Nothing important,” he said.

Riley shrugged. “Sure, an ex-student of yours shows up out of nowhere to give you cryptic warnings about making good life-choices and trusting your friends, but it’s no big deal.”

He looked over, caught a wry smile from Shane.

“Look, I’ve known you long enough to know when something is up,” he said gently, “and you don’t have to tell me, but you should know you can.”

Schofield didn’t say anything, didn’t even move.

“Alright,” Riley said, slapping his palms down on his thighs, “I've said my piece, I’ll leave you alone.”

He turned back towards the door, took three steps before Schofield’s voice came floating through on the rapidly cooling night air.

“I had an affair.”

Riley turned back.  
Saw Schofield look up at him, the trace of a blush gracing the tops of his ears and beneath his sunglasses.  
“While I was teaching at Paris Island,” he continued, looking sheepish “with a recruit.”

Book II let out a low whistle in surprise. He bent down and snagged two beers from where they were swimming in a forgotten cooler full of mostly melted ice. Wiping them dry on his shirt, he popped the tops and passed one to Schofield, clinking them together when he took it.

“You know,” Riley said, “I don’t think it counts as an affair exactly if you’re single and not doing anything wrong at the time.”

Schofield eyed him over the rim of the bottle and snorted.  
“It’s against the rules.”

“It’s pretty strongly frowned upon,” Riley corrected. “You were her superior and her instructor, but not technically in the direct chain of command, so no actual rules broken. It’s a gray area.”

A muscle jumped in Schofield’s jaw, something in his face twisted, and he looked down at his feet.

Riley pushed on gently, “you know, she would’ve been happy for you. You’ve got to keep on living, and this is a good thing.”

They both knew exactly who she was.

Sensing he was pushing into sensitive territory, Riley took his lead from Schofield’s silence and let the conversation fall away. They stood, raising beers to lips, quietly together for a few long moments. There was one other thing playing at Riley’s mind though.

“What did that guy want then?” He asked, but got no reply, just a shake of the head from Schofield.

It was odd, Riley thought. Showing up out of the blue, needing to speak in private, both of them clearly nervous, and the strange warning about secrets.  
In his mind, the pieces were starting to fit together.

“Wait,” he said slowly, and Schofield’s face drained of all colour. “Was he trying to blackmail you? Threatening to report it or some shit?”

It was like all Schofield’s strings had been cut. The tension drained from his limbs and he sunk onto the bench of Mother’s outdoor table.  
“No,” he said firmly, “he wasn’t trying to blackmail me.”

“Seriously, it’s not like the Corps will care,” Buck continued, “It happens all the time.”

“Oh the Corps will care alright,” Schofield shot back.

He took his glasses off, passed a hand over his eyes.

Buck stopped and waited.  
Whatever it was, they were finally getting to the crux of whatever was eating away at Schofield.

He looked up at Buck, silhouetted against the night sky, eyes exposed.

“The Corps will care because the student I was having an affair with – ” he broke off, took a deep breath, and tried again. “ – because _he’s_ the student I was having an affair with.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Parris Island  
Four months earlier**

Shane saw him sitting at a table, shaded beneath a large oak tree in one of the rare quiet spots at Parris Island. It bothered Schofield because he knew that the rest of the platoon were horsing around together, their spirits momentarily buoyed by the arrival of the mail, in the very limited hours of free time the recruits were allowed during basic training. It was Sunday, his only day off each week – while he didn’t have to keep up with the four-am wake-up call, his schedule as an instructor was still punishing – but Schofield found himself heading off the path to the main gate and over to where the recruit was sat.

The young man had his nose buried in a book on the Korean War, another pile of them beside him and a flurry of handwritten notes all scattered across the table, so he wasn’t paying attention as Schofield approached.

“Mail just arrived,” Schofield said, causing the recruit to startle and jump to immediate attention. He managed to bang his knee pretty hard against the bench as he did so, but didn’t flinch or curse or give any sign of pain as he held himself straight. Schofield stifled an amused smile, saying “at ease.”

“I don’t get letters from home, Sir,” the recruit replied.

His name was Myers, Noah Myers, and over the past weeks, Schofield had got to know this particular recruit well. As a teaching instructor, he had taken this platoon through classes on military history, leadership in the field, marine core values, and his least favourite, proper uniform dress, every day for the first three weeks of basic training. Myers had been a diligent student, full of questions and astute observations. From the second he stepped into the classroom until the recruits were dismissed, Shane felt Myers’ focussed gaze on him, drinking in every word. It wasn’t uncommon for him to approach Schofield after class, looking for extra reading or to get Schofield’s perspective on a problem he was thinking through, and for his part, Schofield always had time for a hardworking recruit. Hell, the book he had been reading was one Shane had recommended to him.

“You don’t want to spend your downtime with your platoon?” Schofield asked as he sat down at the bench opposite Myers.

“Drill Sergeant says free time isn’t time off, Sir,” Myers replied. “It’s an opportunity to find ways to better yourself.”

Schofield nodded, the recruits were encouraged to do independent study or other useful tasks around base on their Sunday afternoons but still, Noah should have been swapping stories, making friends, under the guise of cleaning the barracks with his platoon.

“Camaraderie between marines is a pretty essential,” he said. “In fact, I’d say it’s key, and time spent building it isn’t wasted.”

Noah looked down, fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt.  
“I don’t think I really fit with the other recruits,” he admitted.

Myers’ talents hadn’t gone unnoticed by his teachers, or by the higher ups. He had been set apart and that didn’t make it easy to fit in, but if he didn’t try, it would only exacerbate the problem and breed resentment toward him. As one of only a handful of officers involved in basic training on the base, and a former recon commander to boot, Schofield got it. He attracted a certain amount of attention and admiration from the recruits. He’d heard a few good rumours about his past service floating around – some of them worryingly close to correct about very classified events – and a few bad ones too. He’d never particularly kept with the notion that officers shouldn’t socialise with the enlisted, but he was grateful every day to have Mother around to help bridge that divide here.

Reaching over the table to shut Myers’ book, Schofield “This is the end of fifth week right?”

Myers nodded.

Fifth week of basic training was something different. Although the recruits were expected to keep up their individual PT and studies, there were no formal classes or training during fifth week. Instead, the recruits were set to work on essential parts of the base maintenance for the week. Myers, and the rest of his platoon, had spent the week stocking supply shelves, doing laundry, trimming the lawns, and scrubbing the loos until they could be eaten off. It did, however, mean that there was perhaps a little more flexibility in the normally entirely inflexible rules and routine of basic training.

“Got any civvies?”

Myers looked confused, but nodded again.

“Well then, go put them on and meet me at the main entrance,” Schofield said, standing up. Myers looked like he was about to protest, but Schofield had already reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and a pad of papers they’d given him when he’d arrived but he’d never had any cause to use yet. Scrawling his signature at the bottom, he tore the slip off and passed it over. “That’s a leave pass. It’ll get you past the guard at the front gate. You’ve got my permission to be off base until tomorrow morning, as long as you’re back for roll call at four-am.”

Myers took the pass.  
“Is this really allowed?”

Schofield shrugged. The passes were supposed to be for exceptional circumstances, but there were benefits to being an officer, and especially one with his reputation: few people on base were willing to countermand him.

“You’d be amazed what they let me get away with,” he replied.

As he walked away, Schofield typed out a quick text to Mother. Their regular Sunday-afternoon bowling date was going to have to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Schofield had brought his car around and was idling out the front of the main entrance to Parris Island. Sure enough, Myers appeared, dressed down in the t-shirt and jeans he must have worn the day he entered basic training, the only civilian clothing he would have had with him. Schofield rolled down the window and called him over.

“Where are we going, Sir?” He asked as he slid into the passenger seat. He still seemed a little bemused, but he had followed the order anyway.

“Anywhere away from here,” Schofield replied. “I’m off duty and you’re off base, so we can stop with the ‘sirs’ for now. It’s Shane, or Scarecrow if you’d prefer.”

“Scarecrow,” Myers tested it out, before glancing over at Schofield a little curiously. “I heard on the grapevine that General McLean was the first to call you that.” When Schofield nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the road or offer any more details, Noah decided to push his luck and asked “Why?”

Shane still didn’t say anything, but he looked over at him, pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and fixed Noah with a piercing gaze, surveying him with his scarred eyes.

His eyes were shockingly blue.  
And of course, there was the scars.

“_Woah_,” Noah sucked in a quick breath, and then stammered out a hasty apology for his reaction when Schofield turned away again.

“It’s fine,” Schofield said, covering his eyes again. “I’ve got used to it.”

Noah could recognise a show of trust. Of all the rumours about Schofield at Parris Island, there were plenty about the captain’s covered eyes, each more fanciful than the last, but none had prepared him for the reality. He suspected there was a reason no one ever, _ever_ saw Schofield without those sunglasses and probably the way that people reacted to them was a big part of it.

Schofield drove them for close to an hour, until they’d left Parris Island well and truly behind. All the way, he kept the conversation light, asking Noah about his hometown, the shit he liked to do, normal stuff.

Finally, they pulled up in front of a non-descript bar.

“Let me buy you a beer,” Schofield said, jumping out and heading inside.

Still confused, Noah followed him. They’d driven all this way for a beer?

Taking a seat at a nearby table, Noah accepted the glass gratefully. It was his first taste of beer in five long weeks.

“When you’re out there in the field,” Schofield began, “every marine in the team needs to know that you’ve got their back, and you need to know they’ve got yours too. You’re trusting each other with your lives, but for you, it’s going to be more than that. One day, you’ll be commanding a squad, a unit, who knows, but you’ll have to lead your people into situations that can get them killed. You have to care about them, because then you’ll do your damned best to get them all home.”

Noah fell silent. The weight of expectation, of Schofield’s words, his attention, sat heavy on his shoulders. He tried to wash it away with a few mouthfuls, emptying the remainder of his drink.

After a long moment, he asked “How do you do it? Lead your men into battle, knowing they’re not all going to make it?” He moved forward, almost a little too far into Schofield’s space, fear and urgency etched into his features. “Doesn’t that burden crush you?”

Schofield smiled kindly, but a little sadly.

“Of course it does,” he said. He leant back in his chair, said, “but that’s the burden of leadership. I had a teacher once who believed that some emotions weren’t useful on the battlefield. He turned out to be a total prick, but unfortunately he was right. There are some things that you can’t afford to feel out there – anger, frustration, sadness – because then you’ll lose focus. You will lose people, but you don’t mourn them in the field, or you’ll be distracted and then there’ll be more casualties. Figure out your objective, get it done, and get your people home.”

Noah shook his head.  
“I don’t know if I can do that,” he said.

Shane leant back in, crossing his arms on the table. Noah could almost feel the warmth coming off his skin.

“You’ll make a call, and someone will die,” he said. “That’s the nature of the job. All you can do is try to learn from it and the next time you find yourself in a similar scenario, you don’t make that mistake again.”

Noah looked up, almost whispered like a confession.  
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a marine.”

“I think you are,” Schofield replied. “You’re smart. You’ve shown me you think through situations and make good decisions, and you value the lives of your people, that’s clear. Those are traits that make a great marine.”

The praise and the alcohol burned through his system. From the moment he had walked into the classroom, it was clear why Shane Schofield attracted the fierce loyalty of the people around him. Half the class were in awe of the legends and whispers surrounding him, but the reality was even more intoxicating. Noah had felt twisted up inside for weeks, but a warm resolve now settled in his gut. He knew he should have moved back, should’ve said something, anything, but he’d already lingered too long, so what was another minute.

Schofield swallowed, and Noah’s eyes fell reflexively to his neck.

“We should go back to base,” he said.

Noah nodded minutely.  
Then he closed the final distance, praying he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life, and kissed him.

It was only a brief kiss, barely a brush of dry lips against his own, before Schofield had his hand on Noah’s shoulder, pushing him back gently.

There were a thousand and one reasons not to do this. He was Myers’ teacher, a superior officer, and that wasn’t even close to the most significant piece of military legislation they were breaking.

But it had been so goddamn long since he’d let himself feel this. He’d long since buried it, but after the bounty hunt, after everything, his foundations had been cracked and he was still trying to find the ground beneath his feet again. He was immediately glad that he’d taken the trouble to drive them far enough away that there was no chance of either of them being recognised, and doubly grateful they weren’t in uniform. He didn’t have to be a marine right now, didn’t have to be ‘the Scarecrow.’  
He could _want_.

His grip tightened on Noah’s shoulder and pulled him back down to return the kiss.

He woke shortly after midnight, on a shitty bed, in a shitty motel, Noah plastered at his side, dishevelled and sweaty. He doubted he looked any better. With a groan, he fumbled for his sunglasses and brought up his battered old casio watch. The glowing green numbers felt like a reprimand in the darkness.

“Fuck,” he swore, shoving Noah roughly to wake him, although he was already blearily opening his eyes at the noise. He got up from the bed, springs creaking in warning, and scrambled for his clothes, still repeating “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Whas’a’matta?” Noah muttered, face half in a pillow.

“Get up,” Schofield threw various items of clothing that weren’t his own at Noah. “You need to be back on base in the next few hours.”

Or there would be hell to pay, for both of them.

Now seemingly fully awake, Noah sat up in the bed but didn’t make a move towards actually getting up or getting dressed. He let the sheets pool around his waist, baring his chiselled torso to the cool night air.  
“It’ll be alright,” he teased. “I think my teacher will understand if I’m late for first period.”

Schofield scowled.  
They didn’t have time for this.

“I doubt Drill Instructor Newman will be quite so understanding,” he said.

Noah blanched.  
“Oh fuck.”

The drive back to base was awkward at best. Neither man said a word, and in the darkness, the silence felt oppressive. A couple of times, Noah looked like he wanted to talk about it, but Schofield stared resolutely ahead. Soon, Noah fell asleep and Schofield was left to the long drive back with nothing but his own thoughts.

He was kicking himself.  
So many years of restraint and discipline, all down the drain. His career had cost him so much, and he’d been so stupid to risk it all for a few stolen hours of precarious release.

If he hadn’t woken up…

But they got back with time to spare, so Myers could at least get another hour of shut eye in before the wake-up call and the beginning of another relentless day. Schofield had a bit more time before he was expected to teach, so he went back to the shoebox apartment they had assigned him on base. He hadn’t bothered to bring anything much in the way of personal effects. He tried to sleep, but as he lay there with his stiff, starched military sheets, in his empty apartment, his brain just wouldn’t shut off. Replaying every minute – _every_ minute – of the last few hours wasn’t going to help. The reminder of every dumb decision he’d made, and Noah’s skin slick against his, was only working him up more. After tossing restlessly for a few hours, he gave it up as a bad job.

A shave and slipping back into his uniform made him feel more himself. His first class wasn’t for an hour but he made his way over to the main buildings anyway. In the instructors’ lounge, there was a decent coffee machine. Caffeine, lots of caffeine, and adrenaline would have to substitute for sleep.

He had most of the first cup down his throat when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“I hope whatever you ditched me for yesterday was worth it,” Mother said by way of greeting.

If Schofield had turned out to be a pretty good teacher, then Mother was born to be a drill instructor. The four-am wake up calls didn’t seem to bother her, especially since it meant she’d usually got two good rounds of yelling at the recruits in before six. One morning during group PT, Schofield had seen her screaming at one recruit that she could outrun him on her prosthetic leg and then had promptly done it to prove her point. The recruits were cautiously respectful around Schofield, a little in awe of his reputation and officer status, but they were utterly terrified of Mother Newman.  
And every last one of them wanted to be just like her.

Mother grabbed the coffee pot, surveying Schofield critically as she poured herself a cup.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Thanks.” Schofield glared at her and refilled his own. 

“Late night?” She teased. “Get up to any mischief I should know about?”

Schofield didn’t reply, just stared back at her. He tried to hold himself as normally as possible – you couldn’t give Mother an inch – but she knew him well enough to notice the things that slipped past everyone else. He could practically see the gears ticking over in her mind.

“Wait,” she said slowly. Her face lit up with glee and she dropped her voice to hiss at him, “Is this a walk of shame?”

Schofield shook his head in fond exasperation.  
“I’ve got a class to teach,” he said, downing the second cup of coffee and reaching past her to drop the mug in the sink. With a crooked grin, he said “I’ll see you later.”

As he walked away, he heard her call out behind him, “Good for you!”

Caffeinated and with a steady thrum of satisfaction still buzzing under his skin, he felt just about ready to handle the day.  
Until he walked into the classroom and remembered which class this was.

Noah sat at his usual desk, second row from the front, and just as usual, Schofield could feel the weight of his eyes on him every minute.

As basic training progressed, the recruits would spend less and less time in the classroom, and more in the field, learning combat manoeuvres, practicing hand-to-hand, and gaining weapons experience. So Schofield was able to dismiss the class after an hour. It wasn’t uncommon for Noah to hang back for a few minutes after class, catching in a last few notes or asking a follow-up question and sure enough, when Schofield turned back from rubbing down the chalkboard, he found himself alone with Noah.

“Myers,” he called. “You’re going to be late for exercises.”

“Yes, Sir,” Noah replied, with a little more cheek than was proper. He made his way over to the door but then stopped short, hesitated a moment, and then turned back to Schofield. Some of his confident swagger had abated. “We should probably talk.”

Schofield crossed the room, pulled the door shut.  
“No,” he said, a little more sharply than he intended. “It was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

He took Noah in. Behind his freshly pressed uniform and boy-next-door good looks, Schofield couldn’t unsee the freckles that dusted his torso, the long lines of his thighs, or the way he shivered when he was touched. Noah stepped half a step forward, definitely closer than was allowed. Schofield felt his heart rate speed up, his breathing stutter.

“Why’d you shut the door then?” Noah exhaled as he brushed past Shane, pushing the door open.

Then he left.

A week.  
It took a week before the knock came on Schofield’s office door.

Mother had been pressing him relentlessly for details of what she had been calling his ‘mysterious rendezvous’ all week. A week in which Myers had worked hard and left promptly at the end of each class, and Schofield had thought he hadn’t been lying to Mother when he told her it wasn’t a big deal, just a one-time thing. If anything, that had just encouraged her. She’d been dropping hints about getting back into practice, having a little fun, letting himself go and some other distinctly less subtle euphemisms, but Schofield just insisted that it wasn’t going to happen again.

And then Noah had knocked at his door, sporting an impressive shiner. It gave him a certain roguish charm.

“It’s alright, Sir,” he said with a cheeky grin at the look on Schofield’s face. “You should see the other guy.”

Against his better judgement, Schofield smiled and beckoned Noah inside.

Leaning his butt up against the desk with his arms crossed against his chest, he said, “Something I can help you with, Recruit?”

“Yes, Sir,” Noah stood with his back straight, eyes front. The only thing that stopped him from being properly at attention was the cocky half-grin still gracing his features. “I wanted to ask you about title ten, paragraph 654.”

Schofield doubted there were that many marines who could recognise the official policy number except for those it applied to, and for them, it was burned into their minds. Title ten, paragraph 654 stated that, in line with Public Law 103-160, a member of the United States armed forces would be relieved of duty if they revealed, or were discovered to have acted upon, homosexual proclivities.   
Colloquially known as 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.'

“The first rule of paragraph 654 is you don’t ask about it,” he said coolly, “and you don’t talk about it, and you sure as shit don’t make dumb decisions like going back to the same bed twice.”

To his credit, Noah didn’t flinch at the rebuke. If anything, he seemed emboldened.  
“Why not?”

Schofield sighed.

“Look,” he began, more gently, letting his hands fall to either side, bracing them on the desk so he was half-sitting on it. “If you keep it discrete and away from the corps, you can fuck around when you have to. Nobody’s going to ask questions about a one-night stand, but if you get in a relationship with someone, it gets messy. Feelings get involved, and it’s harder to hide it. You’ll want to be able to spend time together without looking over your shoulder, or write a letter that’s not half in code, or introduce him to your teammates and you can’t.”

It wasn’t Noah’s fault he didn’t know. He might not have been a kid, but he wasn’t a marine yet either.  
He hadn’t lived it.

“And more than that,” Schofield continued, “it’s not fair on your partner. You signed up for this, but they didn’t.”

Noah stepped forward.  
“But you signed up for this too,” he insisted. “We’re already in this mess together.”

No,” Schofield shook his head. “That’s even more stupid than sleeping with someone outside the corps. Two of us just means twice as many chances to get caught. Only one of us has to slip up and we’ll both be up to our necks in it.”

“If we’re careful, we can have this.”  
He was so earnest, it almost hurt.

“How?” Schofield laughed ruefully, “and where? You sleep in the barracks with a hundred other recruits; I live in the officers’ apartments where you _cannot_ be seen, and I doubt even I’d get away with taking you off base again. Add in that your time is scheduled down to when you can shit, and you think we’ll be able to sneak around the base fucking in secret corners?”

It was all true, Schofield knew. He _knew_. It was just so hard to know better with Noah in front of him, with his toothy grin and a body he’d been pushing to perfection for weeks now, offering.

“I dunno, Sir, you’ve got an office with a door that locks” he said, stepping forward until he was practically standing between Schofield’s legs. He swiped his tongue over his lips, leant down, practically whispered, “and a desk.”

Schofield couldn’t have said which one of them moved first, but then Noah’s hands were in his hair, and his own were around Noah’s face, and the kiss felt like it was going to bruise, and he might have known this was a stupid decision, but he didn’t care.

Schofield was waiting. He knew Noah’s platoon should be marching down this corridor any minute, on their way back to barracks from the showers. Technically, they had thirty-minutes before their next scheduled exercise. As they had all learnt, that didn’t mean thirty-minutes of downtime. It meant thirty-minutes of whatever ridiculous, pointless task an instructor could come up with. Just yesterday, Schofield had watched as Mother had ordered a recruit to find her a firing cap for a gun they all knew didn’t exist. And sure enough, he had searched high and low until she told him he could stop.

As they marched past him, Schofield kept an eye out for a familiar face.  
“Myers,” he called out, and the platoon came to an instant halt.

Schofield indicated to the storeroom behind him, where a series of boxes sat on top an otherwise empty shelf. Against the other wall was another equally empty shelf.

He jerked his head between the two shelves.  
“These boxes need to be moved from this shelf, to that one.”

Noah nodded, expressionless, and stepped away from the rest of the platoon who were more than happy to resume their march back to the barracks, grateful that they hadn’t been the one singled out for another useless task.

Little did they know, Mother was waiting with a bolt and a toothbrush for each of them.  
They wouldn’t be getting chow until the bolts shined.

Once they’d passed by and the coast was clear, Schofield stepped inside the storeroom. Noah had been reaching for the first of the boxes, but stopped and turned when the door shut with a quiet _snick_.

Schofield walked toward him, right into his space and then just kept walking, forcing Noah backwards until his back hit the wall. Pressed chest to chest, there was a moment of absolute stillness, a breath full of tension and challenge where neither would drop their gaze. Then Noah hastily knocked those blasted glasses from Schofield’s eyes, sending them to the floor with a clatter, so he could wrap his hands around Schofield’s face and drag him into a kiss. For his own part, one of Schofield’s arms had snaked under the thin material of Noah’s olive t-shirt and wrapped tight around his waist. The other clutched at the shelf above his head, holding them steady against the push and pull of their bodies.

Noah grabbed at the collar of the jacket of Schofield’s service uniform, shoving it roughly from his shoulders and reached for the buttons of his shirt – goddamn officer with too many goddamn buttons – wanting to get his hands on Schofield’s skin. Before he could though, Schofield pulled him down and away from the wall, crushing their mouths together long enough to distract him as he spun him around and slammed him back against the wall with an audible thud.

A thrill of the illicit rang through him.  
Anyone could have heard.  
They needed to be more careful but he was already past caring. His cock had started showing interest before the door had shut, before he reached for the box, even before Schofield had brazenly ordered him into the store room in front of his entire platoon. Nope, his traitorous cock had perked up as soon as he’d walked around the corner and seen Schofield there, leaning casually against the door frame.  
Waiting for _him_.

Now facing the wall, the coolness of the surface seeped through the thin layer of Noah’s t-shirt against his flushed skin, and the warmth of Schofield’s body behind him. The smooth wall didn’t offer any relief in the form of friction to rut into, but he could at least push his ass back into the crook of Schofield’s hips, grinding against him until he was rewarded with a muttered curse as Schofield’s hips stuttered involuntarily against him.

Schofield’s hands took his own and pinned them by the wrist above his head while he exhaled damply, mouth trailing over the exposed skin around the neckline of Noah’s shirt, forehead resting in the crook of his neck.

“Hold them there,” he breathed against Noah’s skin.

His hands trailed down Noah’s arms, feeling the tightness in his muscles, the thrum of his pulse. With one hand pressing against the back of his neck, he sank his teeth into Noah’s shoulder and reached around for his belt.

The first touch on his cock felt like heaven.

Noah had been pushing his body to its physical limits. His muscles ached and screamed, pleasure tinged with pain. Seeking out sensation, he rocked back and forth, fucking into Schofield’s grip – firm and calloused – and back to press his ass against the hard line of a cock.

Jesus, they hadn’t even bothered to get undressed and here he was rapidly heading past the point of no return. His head fell back against Schofield’s shoulder, a whine falling from his parted lips. Schofield silenced him by claiming his mouth. He had to twist his head to kiss him and the angle was awkward. Teeth clacking, nose bumping, awkward but Noah didn’t care. He bit into Schofield’s lip, as the grip around his cock tightened, sped up, twisted a little at the head. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, last. He came with a shudder, sticky bursts striping Schofield’s hand white.

The hand that had been pressed insistently against the back of his neck wrapped around his chest, holding Noah upright as he slumped against Schofield. Through ragged breaths, he could still feel Schofield hard against the crook of his ass. Of course he was, Noah thought. The marine was too stubborn, too disciplined to take whatever Noah was offering and rut against his ass until he came in his goddamn dress slacks.

And wouldn’t Noah like to pin him down and make him do just that. 

Instead, he turned in Schofield’s grip and dropped to his knees. He was bracketed by the wall at his back and Schofield’s body before him. Fumbling for the zipper, he pulled Schofield’s cock from his pants. He took as much as he could into his mouth – which wasn’t all that much, he wasn’t exactly the most practiced, but that never seemed to matter – and wrapped his hand around the rest.

Looking past Schofield’s thighs, his eyes fell on the door.  
It couldn’t be locked from the inside.

Safety precaution, Noah recognised even through his post-orgasmic haze.

He also realised that meant anyone could walk in at any time and find him on his knees, taking the Scarecrow apart. His cock twitched optimistically at the thought.

Noah looked up as he heard a soft thud. Schofield braced himself against the wall, letting his head rest against the smooth surface. His eyes were screwed shut, twin scars meeting perfectly terrifyingly across his eyelids. Not for the first time, Noah wondered how long it had been since Schofield had let himself have anything like this, whatever this was between them. He always came undone so easily under Noah’s clumsy efforts.

Noah swirled his tongue, bobbed his head, pushed him as deep as he dared go. Tentatively, he trailed a hand between Schofield’s legs, ghosting over the seam of his pants, and pressed experimentally into the cleft of his ass.  
Schofield came, with nothing more than a barely audible intake of breath and a twitch of his hips.

Before he’d even really caught his breath, Schofield had stepped back, already buttoning his shirt back up, collecting himself. He’d even pulled a fucking tissue from his pocket and was wiping the traces of Noah’s cum from his hand. Down on the ground, Noah took in their surroundings and he his shoulders started to shake.

They were in a fucking storage closet.  
They were fucking in a fucking storage closet.

He couldn’t help himself, he started laughing softly.

“What’s so funny?” Schofield asked, offering a hand to haul Noah back to his feet.

Noah gestured around them.  
“We’re in a literal closet,” he said drily.

Schofield raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop the amused grin that spread across his face.

He pressed a quick half-kiss to the corner of Noah’s mouth and then turned to leave. Noah made to follow him, but Schofield put his hand on his chest, stopping him.

“You still need to shift those boxes,” he said. “Mother helped me put them in there, she might get suspicious if they don’t get moved over now.”

Then with a wink, he left.

A couple of days later, Schofield found himself lying in a field staring down the sights of a sniper rifle. The platoon had been assigned specialty weapons training now that they were reaching the end of basic and Schofield, as a qualified scout/sniper, was one of the instructors leading the course.

One his right was a recruit whose name he didn’t know off the top of his head.  
And on his left was Noah.

He had already had to correct Noah’s posture twice, pressing down on the small of his back to keep him flat against the ground, as though he didn’t know exactly why the recruit was having trouble holding that position. The dried cum in his shorts couldn’t be particularly comfortable. Still, there would be plenty more uncomfortable obstacles in the field.

Schofield at least had the privilege of slipping back to his own quarters in between teaching assignments to change.

He felt rather than saw Noah shifting restlessly beside him.

“Recruit, if I have to tell you one more time,” he warned.

Voice low, so no one other than Schofield could have heard him, Noah said “I want more from us.”

Schofield was on his feet in seconds.  
“Strip, reassemble and return your weapon,” he ordered. “Then I’ll see you in the tent.”

Away from the training field, a tent had been set up so that the instructors could swap in and out, taking short breaks out of the blazing sun. It was well away from the firing range to protect their ears from the sound of shots cracking through the air, which crucially also meant it was well out of hearing range of the rest of the recruits.

Schofield marched over to the tent, took a deep breath. There was only one other instructor in there.

“Give us the room,” he asked evenly, and the instructor jogged over to take the spot that Schofield had vacated.

Then, Noah stepped under the shade cloth warily.

“What the hell was that?” Schofield demanded, whirling around to face him. “You don’t make comments that could be misinterpreted – ” or correctly interpreted, his mind supplied, blood running cold, “ – in front of anyone, you hear me.”

“I’m finishing basic next week,” Noah said, matter of fact, as though he hadn’t heard Schofield in fact, or was deliberately choosing to ignore him. “I’ll be going to Camp Lejeune for infantry training. It’s not that far from here, only the next state over, and I won’t be so closely watched. We could meet somewhere in the middle, somewhere we won’t be recognised. I want to be able to go to dinner with you, or wake up with you in the morning. I want more than a couple of rushed fucks in hidden corners when we can manage it.”

“Shit,” Schofield swore. “I told you from the start this was a bad idea.”

He turned his back on Noah.  
Tried to gather his thoughts.

“You don’t know where you’ll be posted to after that,” he said. “It could be the other side of the country.”

“We can make it work,” Noah replied, “We’ve made it work so far – ”

“I’m being deployed,” Schofield cut him off.

Noah fell silent. His jaw dropped and his brow creased.  
Dammit, Schofield could see the hurt in his eyes.

“I’ll see your platoon through to graduation,” he explained, “but then I’ve been re-assigned back to Force Recon to lead a mission, and I’m taking Gunnery Sergeant Newman with me. It’s top secret, they won’t even tell me where we’re going yet, or how long it’ll be, or where we’re going afterwards.”

Noah nodded slowly.  
“So this is it?” He said.

Schofield felt like all his blood was rushing to his ears, swirling through his head in a blindingly dizzy mess. Just a few hours ago, they’d been fooling around in his office. Then, he’d returned from lunch to find a missive waiting for him from the higher ups, informing him he’d been reassigned at the end of this graduating class. He had wanted to find a better time, a better way to tell Noah but, he was realising, there probably was no better way.

“Yeah,” Schofield agreed. “This is it.”

Schofield turned to leave, but as he did so, Noah’s voice called out to him.

“How do you do it?”

Shane stopped at the edge of the tent.  
The least he could offer Noah now was some honest advice.

“I think about the reasons I joined the marines in the first place. When I took my commission, I knew there was going to be sacrifices, and I knew this would be one of them.”

He turned back, crossed the floor in a few strides and came back to stand directly before the young recruit. With a sad smile, he said, “I made my choice and I’d do it again but yours isn’t made yet. You can still choose how you want to live your life.”

Two days later, they were informed that Recruit Myers had been granted early-leave separation.

Another two weeks after that, Schofield and Mother found themselves on a Hercules ‘Combat Talon’ bound for a once-Japanese, now American island in the middle of the pacific.

As he donned his HALO gear, Mother approached him, a small furrow between her brows.

“You alright?” She asked.

“Fine,” Schofield replied. “Why?”

Mother shook her head.  
“You’ve just seemed a bit quieter than usual again lately.”

Schofield brushed away her concern.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”


End file.
